Page 37 of To Bed the Bride
“I’d much rather be in Scotland.”A comment she couldn’t make.
“I live here,” she said, hearing the dull tone of her own voice. There was no excitement in it. Why should there be? She was merely stating a fact. “Most of the time.”
“I wrote you,” he said. “Just tonight, as a matter of fact.”
Another surprise. She glanced at him and then quickly away.
“What did you say?”
“I inquired about Bruce, of course.”
“Of course.”
“How is he?”
She smiled, an easy expression when thinking of the puppy. “He’s upstairs, in my room, happily chewing on a toy.”
“I take it he’s well, then.”
She nodded. “Very well. And growing. You should see the change in him.”
“I’d like that.”
When she glanced at him it was to find him smiling at her, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I doubt anyone would understand if you took me to your room.”
She shook her head.
She mustn’t look at him. Instead, she should concentrate on Michael, now in conversation with Daphne’s husband. Thomas was obsequious to a fault, almost servile. Even Daphne didn’t grovel as much.
Don’t look at Logan. Don’t look at him. Look away. Focus instead on the soup bowl placed in front of you, or the pattern of the china.The soup was a creamy bisque. Deborah’s cook was extremely talented. Every meal Eleanor had eaten in London had been excellent.Think about that instead of Logan McKnight, for the love of all that’s holy.
The rest of dinner was blessedly uneventful.
Her cousin was amusing, charming, and utterly delightful—words she’d heard Michael use once to describe Daphne. Jeremy, on the other hand, was somewhat sullen, but that didn’t surprise her, either. He liked to be the center of attention and when there was a large group, like tonight, he faded into the background. He didn’t have a title, a fortune, a position in politics, or a company that he was running single-handedly.
As far as Logan was concerned, he was the perfect guest. He deflected those questions he didn’t choose to answer with a smile or a quip. He didn’t discuss legislation, but she had a feeling that it was going to be a subject of much discussion when the gentlemen left the table.
Once dinner was over, the women would go into the drawing room and the men into Hamilton’s study, where they would avail themselves of the facilities, smoke cigars, drink brandy, and talk politics.
“You didn’t tell me you were engaged,” Logan said in a low voice.
She glanced around surreptitiously, wondering if anyone had overheard. Everyone was concentrating on their fish course. Everyone but her aunt, who was seated at the foot of the table and looking over everything with an eye to any imperfections.
“No.”
“No, you aren’t? Or no, you didn’t say?”
“Must you discuss this now?” she whispered. “You didn’t tell me you were a member of Parliament, either. You let me think you were a shepherd, of all things.”
“I almost confessed that day in the cottage. I was afraid, however, that you would be so impressed that you would turn into every other female I’ve met.”
She stared at him. “What kind of female would that be?”
Perhaps her voice was a bit louder than she intended, because Thomas, Daphne, and Hamilton glanced at her.
Logan, however, only smiled.
Had he done that on purpose? She had the idea that he was goading her deliberately and that it was some kind of payment for not telling him she was engaged.
